Inception
by Spectering
Summary: Harvey Specter has been granted a rare opportunity to wake up and have the life he's only imagined. Maybe he could really be happy.


It's the day before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring, except Harvey. It's morning day break and the faintest suggestion of sunlight has roused him awake. But when he peels his eyes open the walls surrounding him are drastically different than the glass walls of his condo in the sky. He takes a heavy-hearted look around the room.

The room is much smaller than he's used to, like maybe he's in the apartment of a young girl but there's too much sunlight for it to be in the middle of the city. The bedroom looks cluttered, and there's an assortment of his things mixed in with some slightly familiar decorations. The bedroom has a certain eclectic style that is certainly a collective of two different tastes. His vision is a little blurry, but he spots a series of pictures on the nightstand across the bed from him. That's when he sees her clearer than anything he's ever seen before.

How much did he drink last night?

He takes a long, hard look at the woman beside him. Her red hair is brilliant against the pillow. It takes a few moments, but his brain finally registers who is beside him.

He blinks slowly.

This isn't her apartment, nor is it his. And if he's lying in bed beside her, how could they possibly be at someone else's house? The Christmas party isn't until tomorrow so surely they didn't get black out drunk and somehow end up in bed together.

Before he can even ponder the situation any more, a screaming erupts throughout the room yet the noise is slightly muffled. He feels her hand push against his upper arm. He's dead still, not quite sure how to react.

"It's your turn," she mutters into her pillow, "I got up last time."

He furrows his eyebrows and squeezes his lips tightly together. He doesn't have an immediate response, but she doesn't really give him much opportunity to have one before she's rolling over and facing away from him. He sighs but pushes up out of the bed to leave the room. He knows whatever is happening, he hates it when Donna is mad or disappointed in him.

He's confused about the origin of the screaming, the appearance of a baby monitor, sharing a bed with Donna of all people. Not that he hasn't thought about it but she has rules that he's expected to follow. And he's respected her rules for so long that it's become a habit.

When he opens the bedroom door, the screaming becomes more apparent and a hell of a lot louder. He recognizes now where he is. He's in his childhood home, tainted with his childhood memories and now he's here with Donna. He walks down the hallway to Marcus' old bedroom where the screaming seems to be coming from and is met with the red face of a blonde headed baby that is new to standing up with its wobbly legs as it holds tightly onto the rails of the crib.

Harvey stands there for a moment, staring at this child who scarcely resembles him and Donna both equally. He takes a quick look around the room, his eyes landing on the name on the wall. The dark letters are contrasted against the white wall, arranged in an order to indicate the baby's name is Carter.

"Shhhhh," he mutters, "It's okay, Carter."

He scoops the toddler up into his arms and begins bouncing lightly. He's only soothed a child a handful of times and it's typically only been brief because the child belongs to other people. The baby's crying becomes quieter, but the tears keep streaming down his face. He's never been good with kids despite maybe one day wanting to have a family of his own. He still hasn't decided yet, but he thinks he might like one.

He paces around the room for a few minutes trying to determine would could be making the kid cry. He goes down a checklist he's overheard Marcus going over once when his kids were teeny-tiny. The tops of the list is always to check the diaper, right? It takes him a few minutes to muster up the courage to check the diaper.

Bingo.

He goes through the motions of changing the diaper, scoping out the room for all of the integral parts. Would Donna believe him if he said he's never done this before? He begins to panic that he'll do this wrong, but he truthfully fears Donna more so he sucks it up and proceeds at doing this. He once signed Michael Jordan, he can do this.

He sucks in a deep breath and does the best he can. No sooner than he's scooping Carter up again to hold the kid in his arms does he feel a pair of cold hands sweep over his back through his thin t-shirt. Despite her hands being cold, she's warm. And as her arms slide around his waist, he stills his movements.

He doesn't remember the last time she'd touched him, not so fully. With her body pressed up against his and her warmth surrounding him. He sucks in a deep breath, etches the feel of her into his brain.

"You're a hell of a lot better at this then you thought you'd be," she mutters. He feels her chest move against his back before her lips lightly touch the back of his neck. She's driving him absolutely insane.

"Which part?" He asks, his breath catching in his throat.

She squeezes him tightly, her fingers digging in to his stomach. She sighs and laughs against his skin. He nearly melts right then and there. She says, "All of it...I'm going to make you breakfast, my love."

And with a fleeting kiss against his neck she's gone. He's left reeling in her scent, her warmth, her touch. The sound of her sultry voice first thing in the morning echoes in his ears as her voice repeats in his brain: "my love, my love, my love..."

A smile touches the corners of his lips as he begins rocking gently from side to side, the balls of his feet practically floating inches above the floor. He moves slowly until the movements of the child in his arms subsides. He stops slowly and peeks at the baby to see his eyes are shut, breathing even.

This seems like a good life, even if it isn't his.


End file.
